


His Kiss

by Angie (Angie13)



Category: Mary Russell - Laurie R. King
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-22
Updated: 2004-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1639985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angie13/pseuds/Angie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even great detective teams are entitled to honeymoons.  However, this doesn't mean they have to go smoothly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ElsewhereCW

 

 

"Come to bed, Holmes."

I could not believe that I had been reduced to this, forced to ask my lawful and presumably willing husband to join me in our marriage bed. It was preposterous. Unbelievable, as well, considering how frequently we had shared close quarters at other times during cases. Did an exchange of rings nullify the past or was he just suffering another inappropriate lapse into his Victorian upbringing? Surely he knew what was awaiting him under these covers and it would hardly come as a surprise. In fact, the simple nightdress I wore - ivory lace and cream silk and utterly ridiculous to my sensibilities - was positively modest compared to the shifts and scraps that he stripped me to when bandaging up various wounds.

He did not answer me. He did not even glance at me, merely stared vaguely ahead of him at what was apparently fascinating woodwork along the edge of the mirror. The only motion towards undressing had been a half hour ago when he had removed his jacket and vest and loosened his tie. He stood as a statue and I watched him intently. A strange detachment within my mind led me to inspect his suit far more than the man wearing it and I cursed both his taste and his dawdling.

He had insisted on a rather antiquated suit for the ceremony, plain and furtive as it had been. Admittedly, I myself had not bothered to search out the perfect dress, something which would have horrified my Elves without question. Of course, they would be the quietest protesters of the haphazard wedding arrangements of Holmes and Russell. After all, we had slipped out of London and done the deed without anyone the wiser or present for the vows. I was sure to hear complaints on that aspect as soon as we set foot on English soil again.

I sighed.

He did not even register the sound and, suddenly, my attempt at patience died. This was ridiculous. We were married. What on earth was he doing now? I was not going to demean myself and beg for him to join me. My intellect loved him before any sort of physical part of me had gotten notions. I shifted beneath the covers, scowling at his lean form. I was not going to beg. No way on earth was I going to beg my lawfully wedded husband to join me in bed, shortly to be followed by passionate kisses and fondling.

Feeling his long-fingered hands pushing at the silk of my nightgown, his lips cool then warm on my skin, the weight of his...

-Enough-.

"Sherlock Holmes." I was pleased at the level calmness in my voice; I had worried that dry nerves would break it. "If you do not come to bed within the next five minutes, you may wish to consider the settee in the sitting room of this hotel suite as a viable option."

Ever so slowly, he turned on his heel and regarded me with drooping gray eyes. Damn him. Someone else might have read only boredom in his face but I knew him too well. He was amused and it was entirely at my expense. With a snort, I drew the covers higher and turned onto my side. "I do hope you sleep well on that woefully short piece of furniture," I tartly offered before shutting my eyes resolutely. Damn the man and whatever was going on in his over-rated brain.

*

The dipping of the mattress brought me out of my fitful half-sleep and I tensed, my hand already starting to reach for my nightstand and my glasses before it was a conscious decision. A hand touched my back, though, and I paused. I knew the touch. I knew the callouses. Closing my eyes again, I feigned sleep. He could stew in his own juices for all I cared at that point.

Of course, if he had a mind to pursue his matrimonial rights, my will power was going to be sorely tested.

As his hand lightly moved to rest at my hip and I felt the dry heat burn through blanket and sheet and silk nightgown, I resisted the urge to push it away and then elaborate on my refusal with words. I was, after all, asleep. If he had not chosen to let whatever doubts or antiquated moral codes interrupt our night, my gown and his clothing would be mere memories.

The moment that thought occurred, though, I knew I should never have thought it. My skin flushed hot and even a determined mental repetition of various rabbinic parables could not distract me. His hand moved lightly over my hip, tracing the slight flare of it, the boyish boniness that was miraculously still fashionable. Then I felt the tease of his breath against the back of my neck and my every muscle tensed, overly aware of his lean body behind my own. Fingers nimble, he slipped beneath the blanket and sheet to trace lines and circles over the silk at my hip. I bit back an instinctive whimper; just as our first kiss once had lit me on fire, his easy touch added kindling.

"Russell," he murmured, the word shifting my hair. "I know you are not asleep and it would be quite pleasant if you would leave off these ridiculous pretenses."

"'Ridiculous pretenses'?" With a flare of indignation, I spun to face him. "May I remind you that it was -you- who refused to join me for some incomprehensible reason?"

"You may and you have." A maddening curve of his thin mouth proved that he was laughing at me and I moved a hand to push him away. He caught it, however, and brought it to his lips, twisting it so that my palm was offered upwards. Kisses feathered along the lines there and I closed my eyes in reaction to the sensation. "Consider me chastised and conquered," he added dryly.

I hesitated as he moved his lips up to my wrist to press against the pulse there. When he pushed my sleeve upwards and continued his heated trail, I sighed in heavy, mocking resignation. "Then I shall have to see about breaking you of some of your more dreadful habits," I muttered, curling my fingers under his chin. His skin was warm and dry, so close-shaven that no stubble scratched my own flesh.

He made an incoherent noise into my forearm, teeth bruising pale skin gently, and I conceded defeat. The great detective had begun his most important case and it was only fair for his assistant - no, his -partner- - to aid his studies. With a smile, I cupped his chin more firmly and pulled upwards. "We will start tomorrow. Tonight, though..."

"You would prefer the horrible human being you married. Yes, Mary, I see where you are attacking my fragile male ego."

I laughed even as something deep within thrilled at the use of my Christian name; I could not remember the last time he had used it. Then his mouth covered mine and the kiss stopped all thought and reason and wit. -Finally-. Tongue against my bottom lip, he forced me to open for him, accepting the suddenly eager kisses, and I reflected vaguely that perhaps one of the most pleasant aspects of his mouth on mine was that it masked his omnipresent smirk.

He eased me onto my back as we kissed, fingertips prodding at the straps of my gown. A callous rubbed a long, burning line along my collar bone until, suddenly, he was moving directly over the gruesome scarring at my neck and the breath froze in my throat. True to form, however, he never paused at my discomfort. Instead, his mouth grew more demanding, drawing my breath back into motion by sheer force as his touch remained gentle and slow over my scarred skin. I closed my eyes and forced myself to relax into him. I trusted him.

Slowly, he began laying a new trail of kisses. Up my jawline to just beneath my ear, then back downwards until he could taste the pulse at my neck through my overheated skin. When his lips slowed and stalled and finally closed at my scars, I felt a shudder shake me. He murmured something against my flesh then and my eyes closed again as he began the soft, searching kisses once more.

It was going to be a long, blissful night, I decided.

~ Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine. - Songs of Solomon ~

 


End file.
